Sir Jacob’s Sword

Priceless Joy is presenting another intriguing prompt for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, a wonderful photograph by Louise with the Storyteller’s Abode. “Seemed like swash-buckler to me,” she smiled, “Errol Flynn or Chris Hemsworth.”

“Sir Jacob, behind you.”

The knight wheeled, sword drawn.

He would stand his ground. Shield hand cut, only a small wince crossed his dirty and stubbled face as he adjusted it’s position.

He raised his sword, and kissing the shaft, whispered, “I shall always be yours, Evelyn.” Then aloud: “for God, for King, for country!”

The air was full of war song: metal against metal; grunts and groans; cries of pain and slaughter; shouts of victorious kills.

Sir Jacob, joined by a motely handful of men who remained loyal, fought like demons. The steps became slick with blood, layered in bodies.

Twack – a sword missed it’s mark, bouncing off the stone. Then another miss. Scrunch, crunkle.

The battle weary knights were blinded by a July snow storm; white pellets stuck to their sweaty limbs.

“Cut!!!!”

“Damn,” I shouted. “I warned you all the bricks on the right low wall were Styrofoam.”